A story of love, sex and destiny, by director Julian Hernandez. Youthful Kieri and Ryo share a deep and passionate love for each other. Kieri sets off in search of his soul mate after Ryo ... See full summary »
Gerardo, a 17-year old guy has just finished his relationship with Bruno and starts wandering hopeless through the streets of the city. In his wandering he's tortured by images: each ... See full summary »
Juan Carlos Ortuño,
Juan Carlos Torres,
Emiliano looks at his life with the eyes of a film director, mixing the objective reality with the processes of the artistic creation. The story he is filming flounders with his daily life,... See full summary »
Martin, a young Argentine student, is exploring the reactions of his sports coach, Sebastian, while vying for his love and affection. He has an opportunity - one night to push the envelope ... See full summary »
Javier De Pietro,
Silent Youth is a film for misfits, dreamers and lovers. It's the classic story of a coming out, but it focuses on the moments one tends to quickly forget: the first approach, the creaking ... See full summary »
A sexy, romantic and uncomfortably chilling tale of love and deception from first time director Marcelo Briem Stamm. Handsome middle class Manuel (Patrico Ramos), hurt by his previous ... See full summary »
Marcelo Briem Stamm
Young and handsome Sergio works the night shift as a trash collector in Lisbon, Portugal. He can't force himself to connect with his pretty female co-worker Fatima, who displays an avid ... See full summary »
João Pedro Rodrigues
Tel Aviv, Summer 1989. Boaz, a beautiful and alluring linguistics student, receives anonymous, male-written, love letters that undermines his sexual identity and interfere with his peaceful life with his beloved girlfriend.
This sequel to Yossi and Jagger finds Dr. Yossi Gutmann reminiscing about his love ten years after his death; however, as he encounters a group of young soldiers, one of them, Tom, reignites his romantic feelings.
A new cinematic language? but can anyone read it? can it say more than one thing?
Like João Pedro Rodrigues (Two Drifters), Mexican filmmaker Julián Hernández makes obsessively gay films unlike Almodóvar, whose outlook may be gay but who has achieved almost universal acceptance through his varied milieus, intricately amusing plots and use of women in prominent roles (not to mention his general brilliance as a filmmaker, which neither Rodrigues nor Hernández has yet established). Hernández's sphere is even more narrow than Rodrigues', but more emotionally accessible and less odd. Influences include Cocteau, Pasolini, Wong Kar Wai and the Duras/Resnais collaboration of' Hiroshima mon amour, a line from which is quoted as an epigraph. Unlike Rodrigues', this filmmaker's few characters are not oddballs or obsessives but simply prettier-than-average middle-class Mexico City young men oppressed by love-longing. Like Hernández's previous feature A Thousand Clouds of Peace (2003) in its preoccupations but with higher production values, the subject is a young man whose love object eludes him. Two female characters are barely more than glimpsed in passing. We're examining a gay love affair and nothing else. These are students, but don't ask what their majors are. They spend more time in discos than in classrooms.
As in the previous Hernández feature, plot and dialogue are minimized. There are voiceovers but the characters rarely speak. We get used to their miming their feelings. Gerardo (Miguel Angel Hoppe) picks up Jonas (Fernando Arroyo) in a playing field at the university and the passionate kisses and embraces and the sex begin right away. Then Jonas starts averting his face when Gerardo tries to caress or kiss him. And yet they're still regularly sleeping together. Gradually a third person enters the picture Sergio (Alejandro Rojo), a slightly older man, a tall, dark, brooding fellow, even easier on the eyes than the other two. He has already watched the pair play hide and seek in the library stacks when he was installing a light bulb. Sergio has wanted Gerardo for a long time, or so he says when they finally get together after one of several encounters in a gay-friendly club in this film, everywhere is gay friendly. Scenes take place either around the university, in the guy's rooms, or in a club; all problems other than love are minimized or eliminated. Except for some yellow filters, the photography is pretty, but straightforward. None of Wong Kar Wai's richly grungy pads here: the rooms are conventional middle-class housing, with tasteful prints on the walls and textbooks on the shelves, not palatial but posh for students' digs. The guys only have a few pairs of jeans, but they sure have lots of shirts.
The message that the film conveys and though it is too long, it's basic idea works; the scenes convey the desired feelings and the editing is seamless at first is that two people never seem to love each other at the same time to the same degree in the same way.
But the ending is a happy and romantic one. Once Sergio and Gerardo are a couple, Jonas begins to long for Gerardo again, and in the final scene, they've gotten back together.
Broken Sky is more like a poem or an opera or most of all, a dance than a conventional film. It's a different experience. The mainstream audience would never put up with all this gay sex without dialogue or plot. Not every gay man will have the patience to watch these amorous comings and goings for the full 140 minutes, either. I'm not sure that the poetic voiceovers were necessary; and a third of them are lost to non Spanish-speakers because the white-on-white subtitles are illegible. They are a bit too poetic and general. The boys are too specific to be so generalized by the language. Needless to say, "the real world" is beyond the range of Broken Sky. But there's no denying that Broken Sky in its own way is unique and beautiful. The director achieves what he was clumsily groping for in his first one. He is using cinematic language in a way that it rarely is any more he achieves the instinctive identification and emotional directness of the silent film. Broken Sky makes you think about the unspoken element in any relationship, the things that can never be communicated in words: in short, the world of eroticism and feelings. Hernández contributes to the effectiveness of his visual poem through excellent use of various musical accompaniments, a few notes on a clavicord, a string quartet above all, a sweet pop love song the lyrics of each lovingly translated in subtitles. It's as if Gerardo and Jonas were trying to live a pop song. And I guess that's what moony young gay guys do a lot of the time. There's even a coloratura operatic aria; considering the operatic tone of things, the filmmakers exercise great forbearance in using only one. Maybe this is "a new cinematic language," as was said of Antonioni's L'Avventura. For a while one can savor it, admire the naive sweetness of it. But can anyone read it? And can it say more than one thing?
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